


Scholarly Pursuits

by Sweaters_and_Kneesocks



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, But then I was like..nah bros lets add in some clown shit, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hugs, I Don't Even Know, I imagine them as like juniors in high school, M/M, Memory Loss, My First Oneshot, My First Work in This Fandom, Nightmares, One Shot, Rated T for Trashmouth, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, That Last Relationship Tag was like....platonic...this isnt an orgy fic, This was supposed to be all fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tutoring, they dont even kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweaters_and_Kneesocks/pseuds/Sweaters_and_Kneesocks
Summary: Eddie wasn't an idiot.He did well in most of his classes, his grades even rivaling Ben's. Eddie really enjoyed math and science. His environmental science class was always a good time with Stan as his lab partner, even though he always found the soil sanitization labs a bit tedious. Bill in his calculus class made the teachers droning lectures worthwhile, Bill would make up little sayings to get particular rules to stick in his brain for long after the test date. Hell, he even was excelling in his language and composition class, Eddie's weekly timed writings always had high marks.No, Eddie Kasprak was not an idiot, Eddie would argue that he was at least a little intelligent.So why was he in Richie's room being tutored?
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Scholarly Pursuits

Eddie wasn't an idiot. 

He did well in most of his classes, his grades even rivaling Ben's. Eddie really enjoyed math and science. His environmental science class was always a good time with Stan as his lab partner, even though he always found the soil sanitization labs a bit tedious. Bill in his calculus class made the teachers droning lectures worthwhile, Bill would make up little sayings to get particular rules to stick in his brain for long after the test date. Hell, he even was excelling in his language and composition class, Eddie's weekly timed writings always had high marks. 

No, Eddie Kasprak was not an idiot, Eddie would argue that he was at least a little intelligent. 

So why was he in Richie's room being tutored? 

That would be Eddie's world history class. 

He just didn't get history. It just seemed like a collective of ramblings by his teacher, he had no way to verify anything the teacher was saying. Eddie just had to grin and bear it for his junior year in high school, he could probably pass with a C average if he worked his ass off enough with flashcards and by rereading his textbook. Or so he thought. When Eddie's world history teacher passed back his first unit test he died a little inside. 

_ How the fuck did he get a 45%? _

Eddie could feel his face and ears grow warm with shame, involuntarily making himself grow a stark red. He quickly shoved his test in his purple binder as the rest of his class murmured about their grades to one another while the teacher strode around the room trying to pass out the remainder of the tests. He folded his scrawny arms in his lap and stared at the manilla school desk as one foreboding thought crosses his mind. 

That his mother was going to freak. 

His mom was going to go through Eddie's folder and Eddie was going to be grounded until he could get his grade up again. 

Eddie played with the fraying ends of his sweater. He did not want to go home. 

Eddie mentally made plans to talk to Richie at lunch and ask to hang out. 

Eddie shoved his hands deep in jeans' pocket, hopefully not drawing the attention of his teacher. As Eddie's teacher droned on and on about the colonization of...Siberia? Or was it Latin America? 

So that's how he found himself in the slightly cluttered bedroom of one Richie Tozier, sitting on his bed as Richie thumbs through Eddie's notes, making sure there were no gaps of knowledge in his jottings. Eddie could start to see Richie's medication wear off with his jittering limbs and his attempts of quiet mutterings to cope with the task at hand. Eddie remembers when Richie was non-medicated, completely lacking any impulse control and being hyperactive,  _ all the time _ . He also remembers Richie's gargantuan glasses being snapped routinely by Henry Bowers as well as flowering bruises and weeping cuts Richie gained from the said bully. 

_ God bless Strattera and contact lenses.  _

Richie looked up from Eddie's notes from the day. 

"Yeah Spaghetti-head, you have everything from today's lecture, or at least what he went over in my period." 

Richie carded a hand through his inky hair and sighed. 

"Why did you want me to go through your notes?" 

Eddie froze and played with the sleeves of his sweater, refusing to look up to meet Richie's eyes. Richie would totally make fun of him, calling him every name in the book. 

"Eds? Are you okay?" 

Richie turned to grasp one of Eddie's hands that had been picking at his sweater. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Eddie abruptly jerked his hand away and held it close to his chest.

"Don't touch me Trashmouth! I don't wanna catch whatever the hell you've got." 

Richie's laugh filled the room while Eddie's face was flooded with red. Eddie sharply turned his head as to not face Richie once again. 

When Richie saw his state he curbed his laughter. 

"Hey Eddie Spaghetti, what's wrong baby?" 

_ Fuck.  _

_ How the fuck is he supposed to ignore that?  _

Eddie looked up to Richie to meet his eyes. They were always rimmed with puffy eye bags nowadays, with insomnia being a side effect of Strattera. Richie was still smiling at him. It was Eddie's turn to sigh. 

"Promise you would tell anyone?" 

"Scouts honor." 

"You're not the boy scout, Stanley is." 

"Friend of scout's honor." 

Eddie went back to playing with his sweater again and psyched himself up to answer. 

"I...need help in world history." 

"Alright." 

Eddie's eyes darted back to Richie's own. 

"Alright?" Eddie asked, his voice lilting in uncertainty. 

"Alright. Where do you wanna start Eddie Spaghetti?" 

And so it became routine for Eddie to ride Richie's school bus with the said teenaged boy every Friday to go over the past week's notes. Maggie and Wentworth Tozier became fairly used to the weekly visits if a bit perturbed that their son was being overly altruistic by giving up his Friday night to help a friend. Sonia Kaspbrak was none the wiser of her son hanging out with her least favorite of Eddie's friend instead of her favorite in the library: Ben. She just seemed to be happy that Eddie's world history grade was higher than what she considered average. 

"You know what the colonists used to call sugar in the Caribbean?" 

Richie's arm was slung haphazardly over Eddie's shoulder. Instead of Richie's house, they were tucked away in a small booth at some fifties themed diner in town. Eddie's school notes were scattered across the table only leaving room for the glasses of the milkshakes they ordered an hour ago. They left condensation rings on a couple of papers but overall didn't disturb them. 

Eddie shook his head, half-dazed at the realization that he was out late on what was  _ technically  _ a school night.

"They called sugar 'white gold', you should be able to remember it because it's what your mom called my dick last night." 

Eddie elbowed Richie in the side, and even though Richie recoiled he didn't lift his arm off of Eddie. 

Eddie leaned further into Richie's side, snuggling into the soft fabric that was Richie's black hoodie. It had some psychedelic design in the middle of it, which Eddie thought was cool. It was freezing in the damned diner and Eddie had only worn a grey Henley. He could feel Richie stiffen up beside him. 

"Fuck off, trashmouth." 

"You're a cute little bastard you know that, Eds?" Richie tried to pinch his cheek before Eddie smacked his hand away. 

"Funny. That's what your sister calls me." 

Richie gasped, "Eds gets off on a good one! You're learning! Maybe not about Spanish colonization, but definitely sex jokes." 

"That just means you're a shit tutor." 

“Say that to your 85 on the last test.” 

Eddie looked down at his lap. “It’s not an A.”

“Spaghetti-head, the only people who get As on their test in world history are nerds and me. His class is a pain in the ass, don’t fucking worry about it.” 

“I don’t see a reason as to why you feel the need to separate yourself from nerds.”

Richie grasped at his chest and arched backward in the booth and shouted, “Spaghetti-head, you wound me!”

Eddie cupped his hands and blew into them as a weak attempt to warm them up. Eddie began to lightly shiver.  _ Who the fuck paid for the HVAC to run this cold? _ Richie noticed his shaking. 

“Are you like, good? Do you need your inhaler? We can do the breathing exercises-” 

Richie was familiar with Eddie’s tango with anxiety being his dance partner. Richie has his own way of helping Eddie, whether it be stealing restocks of Eddie’s inhaler to keep on hand just in case or trying to slow down Eddie’s breathing when it got too ramped up. He at least attempted, even if it wasn’t the most effective treatment in the world. 

But right now Eddie was just cold. 

“I’m fine, jackass. What’s with the third degree?”

“Why are you shaking?”

“I’m shivering, it’s fucking freezing in here.” Eddie pulled his sleeves to cover his hands and hugged himself. 

"Oh darlin', why didn't ya just say so?" asked Richie in is god awful southern belle voice. He pulled off his hoodie and handed it to Eddie. He started to card his fingers through his hair again, attempting to fix the mess he caused. 

Eddie held it with trembling hands. "Are you sure? You've gotta be freezing with just a t-shirt-" 

"Consider me seeing you in my clothing payment for my tutoring services." 

Eddie huffed and threw on the hoodie. Richie's hoodies were already a bit oversized on himself, and Eddie was much smaller. He wasn't swimming in it, he was drowning in it. Eddie was overwhelmed with the smell of cigarettes, cheap woody cologne and mint gum that Richie kept in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. As much as he tried to stop it, his face heated up.

He stared at Richie's now exposed arms and digits. Piano hands, his mind supplied when he saw Richie's long knobby fingers. His arms were pale with a translucent layer of black hair starting to cover them, Richie's growth spurt being a harbinger of the other side effects of puberty; hair. His arms were marred with unexplained bruises and tiny circular burns smaller than the pad of Eddie's thumb. 

Eddie felt Richie smooth over his hair to help alleviate the staticky mess it had become. Eddie attempted to swat at him.

More importantly, Eddie felt warm. 

Richie dove in to pinch Eddie's cheek while announcing, "Cute, cute, cute!" to any busy-bodies or passerby. Eddie shoved him off. 

"Didn't your mom have the flu like, last week?" 

"Uhh.." 

Eddie sighed and began to pull the hoodie off of himself. He did not need to be locked up by his mother for a month because he caught a secondhand sickness. He handed over the offending object to Richie who sullenly put it on again, effectively covering his arms once again. Eddie went back to shivering to himself. 

"Hey let's scram anyways. I'll walk you home." Richie was sliding out of the booth, gathering up Eddie's notes to haphazardly shove into Eddie's otherwise neat folder. 

"But we didn't finish making the flashcards." Eddie didn't move from the booth, not wanting to return home for the night. He contemplated what he thought were feelings of rebellion that burned low in his stomach, he wanted to stay out later with his best friend. 

"I'll finish them tonight and give them to you at the barrens tomorrow." 

"They might get dirty…" 

"Chillax, I'll bring a sandwich baggie. C'mon your mom might turn me into a eunuch if she realizes I'm the reason you're out this late."

Eddie hobbled out of the booth and Richie handed him his folder and pens back. As Richie fished through his pocket to leave a tip on the tab, Eddie fumbled with organizing papers that were shoved unceremoniously into his folder by one Richie Tozier. After placing the bills on the table, Richie latched an arm around Eddie's shoulders and walked him out of the restaurant and back home. 

***

It was a bright on Saturday, Eddie left his house during the midmorning with the sun high in the sky but with a chill in the breeze. He was only barely able to escape his mother's overbearing clutches. He had gone out Friday, she had said, why do you need to go out on Saturday? But Eddie, with enough sweet talk and fluffy promises, managed to get out that Saturday. and was happily riding his bike down to the barrens where the rest of the Losers were bound to be. Eddie walks around seemingly at a loss until he spots a depression in the ground. It was a trap door. 

Eddie knocked sharply on the door. 

A high-pitched-but-faux-gravelly voice asked him, "What's the secret password, mortal?" 

"Bev, it's me. Also, I know we don't have a real lock yet, so technically I can just push really hard." 

Beverly giggled from behind the door and opened it for him. He heard her footsteps retreat further into the room.

Eddie precariously climbed down the ladder and turned to the other Losers, all clad in shower caps. Bev and Richie were sprawled on an overstuffed loveseat, and if the smell were any indication, passing a joint between each other. Stan was furiously highlighting  _ The Bell Jar _ , his face pinched in concentration. Mike and Ben were laying on the dirty carpet, a radio playing a staticky rendition of a top-forty song between them while they stared at the ceiling in comfortable silence. Bill was curled up in an armchair pressing buttons so forcefully on his GameBoy that it jostled with every movement. 

Eddie grabbed a floral shower cap from the coffee tin they left near the ladder and placed it on his head. 

"Isn't it a bit early to get baked?" he asked while making his way towards Stan. 

Beverly responded, "Had a shit Friday, the old man called. Let me have this." 

Eddie's mouth went dry, "Got it…" and he sunk down to sit with Stanley who paid him no mind. 

Eddie cracked open a beat-up copy of  _ Catcher in the Rye _ and Stanley handed over another highlighter so he could mark it up. 

And hours passed like that. With Beverly and Richie conversing in hushed tones sometimes punctuated by sniffling. Bill eventually joined Mike and Ben on the floor and huddled around the radio with them, idly playing with loose threads in the rug. Ben got up eventually to reinforce a beam that had been bothering him. Eddie and Stan just read, Stan fiddled with the collar of his green turtleneck while Eddie burrowed himself further into his grey sweatshirt. Soon enough his hands became numb with the cold. 

Bill's pager beeped and startled the group. 

"Hey Rich, what does fifty-two mean?" 

"It means 'hurry up', it's what your mom said-" 

Beverly clamped a hand over Richie's mouth as he tried to make his umpteenth dirty joke of the day. She quickly recoiled her hand. 

"Ew, what the fuck? Don't lick me." Beverly said, with no real malice behind it. She wiped her hand on her babydoll dress in an attempt to rid herself of his saliva.

"That's the opposite of what your mom said last night." 

"Beep beep," said Bill. He got up from the carpet. "My mom wants me home for lunch, which is soon apparently. I'll swing by later." 

The rest of the Losers said their goodbyes and waved them out, the spell of silence now officially broken. 

"Yo Eds." 

Eddie glared at Richie over his book. 

"What do you want, Trashmouth?" 

"If you're gonna be a bitch, I'm not gonna give you the flashcards." 

Beverly kicked Richie lightly from her position on the couch. 

"I will pry them from your cold, dead hands." 

"I'd like to see you try. I'd also like to see your mom-" 

Eddie sprang up from his spot, startling Stan, and stomped his way over to Richie. He launched himself at the offending teen. Beverly scrambled off the couch and into the armchair to see the ensuing wrestling match. 

Mike took it upon himself to narrate. 

"And Eddie goes in for the pin! And fails spectacularly! Richie has him pinned on the cushions in no time flat! Will Eddie cry 'uncle'? I don't know folks...it isn't looking good folks." 

"Eddie you fucking suck at this!" Stanley jovially yelled from his corner. 

"Fuck off Stanley, I'd like to see you take him! He's like eight feet of limbs!" 

Eddie was lying face down with Richie sitting on his thighs and holding his arms against his back. 

"I also have eight feet of-" 

"Beep beep!" Ben called out. He had migrated from the carpet to sit at the foot of the armchair where Beverly sat. The two of them were giggling at the show. 

"Say 'uncle' you little bastard!" 

Eddie tried to wriggle himself out of Richie's grasp. He could feel his sweatshirt ride up as well as his running shorts. He knew if his torso showed Richie was definitely gonna-

Richie began tickling Eddie's sides. 

Richie's cold digits were a shock to his system as his laughter turned into mirthful squeals. Richie leaned back and flipped Eddie so he was belly-side up and continued tickling him. 

As Richie hiked up Eddie's sweatshirt and slid down to blow a raspberry into his stomach, Eddie took it as his opportunity to knee his stomach and escape Richie's clutches. Eddie rolled off the couch and hit the floor with a dull thud, while Richie was still on the couch groaning. 

"Does...does that count as a win?" asked Mike, looking over to Stanley for an answer. 

"I mean he escaped.." 

"No," Beverly piped up, "No one said 'uncle'." 

Eddie stood up and dusted off his sweatshirt and running shorts. "Give me my damn flashcards," he demanded as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

Richie was still grasping at his stomach, his hair a mess. 

"Dude, are you good?" asked Mike from the floor. 

"Yeah...fuck." Richie inhaled sharply. "Stan the man...your house is the closest right?" 

Stanley perked up from his corner. "Yeah, man. Do we need to..?" 

"Yes," Richie answered immediately. "Yeah, just some ice. Or like frozen peas or some shit." 

"Roger that." Stan got up and stared at Eddie until he caught his eye. Stan made a motion towards the ladder and Eddie took it as an invitation to come with. Eddie followed Stanley out, after depositing their showercaps in the coffee tin. 

Once they got to their bikes Stanley started talking. 

"You know that Criss gets him the most right?" 

Oh. That explains it. 

"Uhh, yeah...I wasn't thinking.." 

"Clearly." 

They started to peddle to Stanley's house. 

"I hung out with him yesterday," Eddie started, "He seemed fine. He didn't say anything about Bowers or the rest of them." 

"That's because he's stupid and stubborn. A bit like you, actually." Stan replied tersely, effectively ending the conversation. 

Eddie was pretty sure this had to be the most awkward eight minutes of his life, excluding that time he caught Richie with his hand deep in some girl's pants. God, that had been the worst. 

When they got to Stanley's house, Eddie knocked on the door politely and waited for Donald Uris to open it. Eddie knew he'd have to put on his best goody-two-shoes act if he wanted Don's help. 

"Hello Mister Uris!" he greeted in a saccharine-sweet tone, similar to the one he used with his own Mom. 

"Uh, hi Eddie. What're you doing here with Stan?" 

"One of our friends suffered a nasty fall. Do you think you could let us use your ice packs that Stanley uses in his lunches..?" Eddie refrained himself from batting his eyelashes, knowing that would be too obvious and he would be caught. 

"Yeah..one sec." 

Stan gave him a thumbs up before his Dad returned.

"Here you go kiddo, and a bandana to dry it. See you around, Eddie" 

"Thank you,  _ very much _ , Mr. Uris." 

He and Stanley made a quick one-eighty and scurried back to their bikes. Eddie threw the ice pack in the basket along with the bandana, and he and Stan were off. 

They were going as fast as they could back to the barrens, not wanting their trip to be over fifteen minutes, they took pothole laden streets to get back quicker. 

"Thank you,  _ very much _ Mr. Uris" Stanley mocked, "You sounded like you were trying to proposition my dad!" 

"Look man, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Your dad always seems like he's gonna freak anytime we stop by." 

The boys dropped off their bikes, Eddie grabbed the ice pack and bandana from his basket and followed Stanley to the clubhouse. After the pair climbed down the ladder Eddie was quickly wrapping the ice pack in the bandana and knotting it tightly. 

Mike had migrated to the couch with Richie, he was sitting up straight while Richie was lying down with his legs resting on Mike's lap. Ben and Beverly hadn't moved. 

"Hello Stanley, love of my life, killer of gentiles and tolerator of me. Did you get my ice?"

"Yeah, Eddie has it." 

Richie looked over to Eddie.

"Hand it over, Eds!" 

Eddie strode over. He handed him the ice pack wordlessly and sat on the ground at the foot of Richie's side of the couch. Eddie leaned his head back on the cushion. 

"Can I have my flashcards now?" 

Eddie was facing forward, much too afraid to make eye contact with Richie. 

"Mmm, I don't think so, Spaghetti-head."

"I will take your ice pack." 

"No, you will not!" Stan interjected from his corner, once again. 

"Seeeeee, Mom said you can't." Richie laughed to himself. 

Eddie looked over to see Mike messing with his Walkman, Stanley reading and Bev playing an intense game of chopsticks with Ben. He was in the clear. 

"I'm sorry for hurting you," he whispered lowly. 

"It's all good Spaghetti-head." Richie laced his fingers through Eddie's hair and began to stroke his hair gently as one would do with a frightened kitten. Eddie closed his eyes leaned into it. Before long he was asleep. 

He dreamed of a lumpy, corpulent monster. It was sitting on his chest. He couldn't fucking breathe. He tried to yell, but he was only greeted with a mouthful of the monster's oily fat, feeling like slippery rubber filling his mouth. Eddie began to scream only to have it muffled. He couldn't see past the amorphous figure that seemed to be all over and on top of him. It was touching him all over, it's pallor-skin making its way into all of Eddie's crevices. He flailed and kicked only to have even more space be filled with its oozing flesh. He couldn't fucking breathe. He knew he was crying but his tears were sucked up into the slimy skin that engulfed him. He tried to take a breath, his lungs burning, and choked on greasy adipose. He kicked and shoved and- 

He woke up with a gasp and something grasping his shoulder. Eddie jerked away from it. He was swallowing gulps of air as tears fell down his face. The plastic mouth of an inhaler was shoved between his own lips, Eddie closed his eyes and heard the telltale click of the inhaler being activated. He felt the machine puff supposedly medicated gas into this throat and Eddie breathed it in deeply. He blinked tears out of his eyes and took in his slightly blurry surroundings. He was still in the clubhouse and sunlight was still streaming in from the trap door, bathing the place in the light. His inhaler was still in his mouth and Eddie looked up from the hand that was holding the object to their face. 

Richie was crouching over him, all wide-eyed and concerned. He was so damn close Eddie could see the outline of his contacts around the outer edges of his eye. 

"Do you need another one?" Richie asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Another puff." 

Eddie looked at him quizzically. 

"Another puff, schweetie. Of ya' dear inhaler." Richie asked, in an approximation of a transatlantic accent. 

"No, get it out of my face." 

"Aye-aye, Captain!" 

Richie shoved the offending object into the front pocket of his jeans, which were paired with an obnoxious tie-dye pullover with  _ Maine Black Bears _ printed on the front in large black font. Once the inhaler was stored away Richie looked up at him and smiled. 

"Why do you keep that thing in your pocket, anyways?" 

"Just in case." 

"I'm not thirteen anymore. You can trash it." Eddie replied, stiltedly. 

"I like to keep it just in case you ever get like...super inconsolable. Or you wake up screaming." 

"Did I wake up screaming?" Eddie felt his stomach drop, he felt so damn ashamed and looked down at his hands.

"Yeah, it sounded like you were choking on air. It scared the shit out of me." 

Eddie felt the shame fully wash over him, engulfing him and making him feel cold. He shivered and played with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. "Sorry, Rich." 

"It's not a problem, dude." He sat back on his feet. "Can't have Sonia pissed at me because I didn't comfort her son, then she won't let me hit." 

Eddie shoved him in retaliation, "Gross…" 

Richie hissed. 

_ Fuck I fucking forgot again, shit.  _

"Sorry! I forgot and I-" 

"Eds, you're fine." 

"No, I keep hurting you and I hate doing that!-"

Richie grasped Eddie's cheek.

"Eds, baby. You're good, I know it's unintentional." 

Eddie's face grew aflame. 

"Can you stop calling me that? I fucking hate it." 

Richie let go of Eddie's face like his palm was branded by Eddie's cheek. 

"Yeah, got it. I'll stick to Eds." 

"That's even worse!" 

Richie grinned up at him. 

"You're a handful, Spaghetti-head." 

Eddie fully took in the now-empty clubhouse. 

"Where'd the others go?" 

"Quarry, they left after Bill came back. You looked tired as fuck so I stayed back." 

"Sorry about that…" 

He has nightmares. They all do. About what, no one usually remembers. They're connected somehow, Eddie is sure of it. Every time one of them wakes up shaking with tears streaming down their faces, their expressions are so similar it's like they're seeing the same thing. But no one remembers specifics. Beverly and Richie steal Melatonin from the pharmacy to share and they manage, mostly. Richie is still on Strattera, still looks crazed in class when he doesn't sleep, muttering about a 

_ Turtle? A turtle usually _ . 

It's an unspoken rule not to talk about it, lest they look crazy and get locked up with Bowers. 

"It's not a problem Eds. We've all been there, done that. Wanna skedaddle to the Quarry with the rest of the Losers?" 

"No, I want my damn flashcards, Trashmouth." 

"Oh yeah!" Richie fishes in his back pocket. He pulls out a wrinkly sandwich bag with white index cards stacked neatly inside. Richie's winding scrawl fills the cards. "Here!" 

"Thanks. It means a lot, even if I can't read half the answers because your handwriting sucks." 

"I slave away on your dear flashcards and you dare insult me!" Richie's British accent hasn't improved since middle school. "I'm appalled, good sir! We must duel!" 

Eddie hops up from his spot on the floor and wipes his face, then his shorts. In that order, minding the dirt that caked upon his bottoms. 

"We will not duel. It's not the weather for it, dipshit. You have to wait until it's dry so when you collapse your entry wound has less of a chance of getting infected." 

"Aw, my Dr. K is getting concerned about my possible bullet wounds," Richie gets up from his spot on the floor as well, "You really know how to make a gal swoon." 

Eddie begins to climb up the ladder, with Richie in tow. They walk to their bikes in relative silence, only the crinkling of the baggie between the two. 

“You going home already, Eds?”

“Nah, I was gonna study at the library.” Eddie gestures to the flashcards. “Aren’t you gonna go to the Quarry?” 

“Nerd-Alert.” Richie rasps in a faux-robot voice but doesn’t turn back to the Barrens. 

“Are you coming to the library with me, dude?”

“I mean...I guess.” 

They both mount their bikes like knights would with their steeds. As they rode down winding roads, Richie’s spoke-cards flapping against his bike wheels. Eddie felt a special sort of thrill that he managed to ride without a helmet, his mother hadn’t allowed it since the summer when he was thirteen. Something about a broken arm? 

Fear ripped through Eddie’s nervous system. 

_ I’llSuckYourDickForADime.I’llDoITForANickel,ShitI’llDoITForFree― _

Eddie hit a pothole and almost fell face-first into asphalt, thankfully catching himself on the way down. 

“Jesus, dude! Forget Criss, you’ll beat yourself up. Are you good, Eds?”

“Y-eah” Eddie replied, his voice cracking halfway through. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He got up wobbly and mounted the bike again and quickly pushed off, not waiting up for Richie. 

_ What the fuck was that you spaz? Do you need to be locked up with fucking Bowers? _

He pushed harder on his pedals, going much faster than before to quiet his borderline-intrusive thoughts, focussing on getting to the library. He could hear Richie catching up to him on his right, with surprisingly little fanfare. When he did manage to, he had an unreadable expression on his face. Then again, his eyes were no longer magnified by gargantuan glasses for Eddie to use to his advantage. 

They locked up their bikes on the bike racks and walked in. 

Eddie was greeted with the unventilated smell of old books and an almost empty complex. Except the sweet old librarian who has on more than one occasion kicked Richie out. 

Eddie setup shop in a cozy nook where a couple of bean-bags were located. He sank into the plush seat and Richie quickly followed suit. Eddie pulled out his flashcards and began to run through them. 

Yasak?  _ Flip. _ Form of tribute usually collected through fur that Russian rulers demanded from the native Siberians. 

Russification? _ Flip.  _ An assimilation program used by the Tsar that required non-Russians to speak Russian and educated them in exchange for Russian loyalty. 

Triangular Trade? _ Flip.  _ Three way trade system that took place during the 1600s-1800s. Africa sent slaves to the Americas, the Americas sent raw materials to Europe, Europe sent rum and guns to Africa. 

The Casta System? _ Flip. _ Colonial Spanish Society instituted a racial classification in the new world.  _ Kinda fuckin lame if you ask me.  _ ( The last sentence was written in Richie’s untidy handwriting.) 

Eddie chuckled at the very Richie note that was left on the card. Eddie looked up over the card, Richie had the headphones of his walkman on, no doubt listening to a self-made playlist. He was sprawled over the bean bag chair, staring at the ceiling; with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed. He looked...cute. Eddie’s face grew aflame. Richie flicked his gaze to him and winked, if Eddie’s face was on fire before, it had to be magma now. Eddie pretended to busy himself with his flashcards, his jerky flustered movements causing him to drop the cards, where they scattered all over the floor. Richie chuckled at him. 

Eddie began to gather the cards up in a pile when one in particular caught his eye. 

_ Wanna go on like an actual date with me? Movies, dinner, or whatever. Flip. y/n?  _

It was decorated in tiny highlighter dots of different colors, with one pink heart after the question-mark. 

Eddie looked up at Richie, who was pointedly looking to his left, walkman headphones still on his head and cheeks flushed. 

“Richie…” 

He made no indication he heard Eddie. 

Eddie grabbed at Richie’s clothed knee, causing him to look up. He hastily took off his headphones and looked down at Eddie, red-faced and glassy-eyed. 

“Richie?” Eddie tried again. 

“Yeah?” Richie’s response came out strained, he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded his head and refused to break eye contact. 

Richie grinned up at him and practically launched himself off the beanbag at Eddie to deliver a bone-crushing hug. Eddie returned it wholeheartedly. He could feel his own heartbeat ramming repeatedly into his chest, having no intention of slowing down anytime soon. Even through Eddie’s sweatshirt he could feel the poke of Richie’s ribs beneath his arms and they held each other. 

“Hey, Eds?” Richie whispered into his ear. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I make a special request for our date?”

“Uh..sure. What is it?”

“Can you wear these shorts specifically?” 

“Richie!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! I've been reading Reddie shit anonymously for like a month now. Y'all have hurt my heart so much you don't even know. So my bookmarks totally need to be updated but oh well, I'm here for a good time not a long time. Anyways, hoped you enjoyed. Sound off on any mistakes below, per usual. I've only just started reading the book so honestly, their characterization is probably wonky as hell. I Definitely based that diner off of one in my own small town, because I felt the need to shove it in there. Unrelated, our town is small enough to be considered a village lol. Also it's in Muschietti's timeline so I'm pinning this around early 90s. A decade of which I was not alive in, so if anything regarding how pagers work is off,,,suspend your disbelief or whatever people say about anachronisms. Also the books Eddie and Stan read,,,definitely there on purpose, I showed my friend and she was so upset with Stanley's haha, aahh, anyways, THANKS FOR READING!!


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